Absence

I like to think I'm a little better at figuring out where my soul is these days. No longer are your small group leaders checking in on you regularly, nor is a staff supervisor always present to help you sort through the tangles (or even realize that there is one). So you have to pay attention, listen, notice, come to your own conclusion of sorts: why you keep finding everything else to do but be in scripture, why its been easy to shrug off giving in to temptation you were used to fighting, why you'd rather think it's okay than remember that Jesus fights for you. 

And you wonder: is it an absence? a neglect? After walking in the faith for awhile, you know dry seasons happen, and that there's no reason to abandon your faith because you're not sensing God at this point. But you do miss the rhythm, the joy, the peace. 

You know that even if words flow smoothly right now (two posts after months of silence--I'd rather blog than sit?), even if you come after two weeks of finding a strong, influential voice in ministry, even if you can rely on the grace and provision of earlier this summer...you find yourself kinda like where Moses was in Exodus 33: "If your presence does not come with me, don't send me." 

There's a temptation to brush it off and just wait till that sweet spiritual spot comes back again. But there's a deeper want for the relationship with the Father. That feels the distance from too much ministry and not enough being. Needing roots to be refreshed, to grow deeper. Part of you wants to rush it with the urgency of a juggling schedule and ministry kicking up again soon...part of you needs the long, tender, patient care.

I think of the plants I'm growing these days. Two houseplants and a potted basil plant. Parts of them need to die; it's just normal. Other times, they wilt and droop but will perk back to life after watering and light, even amid the yellowed leaves. Except the one houseplant for which I did a poor replant and hasn't seemed to recuperate since. If the roots got moldy and died during that point, then that's one that has failed. Got to tend to those roots. The leaves...maybe there are leaves that are done with their time. But those roots have to keep going. 

Unfinished

It's been three days since I returned from the Intern Trek. I learned early from my staff leader and supervisor that any sort of conferences should be followed by a double Sabbath, two days off to rest physically, let your brain settle, and process spiritually from an intensive weekend. Whether working a student conference or attending one for staff, they're always packed with lessons, emotions, thoughts.

Well, it's been three days and I still feel unprocessed. Then I stop to think: What on earth makes me think that 10 days of hands-on ministry will be wrapped up nicely with a clean knot? I want another long afternoon in a coffee shop so I can settle all my thoughts and make notes of everything that happened. But the reality is that our life is a journey, a process, and what God starts doesn't always finish in our timeline. My thoughts from staffing this Trek will continue to churn and resurface over the next month, semester, year.

I remind myself that there isn't a concrete end goal of post-conference-retreating. No number of journal pages, no making sure I've thought in detail through each session and conversation. What does need to happen is rest, which sometimes means getting 12 hours of sleep in a day (cough-today-cough), getting a little in tune with my spirit in solitude again (where did my love of scripture get buried?), and settling back into life (laundry, shower, home cooked meals).

One of my small group members on the Trek talked about his need for closure in evangelism, multiethnicity, and some of the open-ended ministry things. I feel it now: wanting to make sure all my thoughts are sorted and collected. But four more days of open schedules, naps, and words are not what I need. Instead, I take the invitation to continue a process - to brainstorm integrating lessons into the next year of ministry, to hear God speaking as I reenter into normal rhythms, to trust that the work He started will continue.

One day, I may look back and realize that some of these things have wrapped up nicely, that a chapter has been closed. But that one day does not have to be today...or next week, at the matter.